Stacking Stones​A Creative Craft Blog

From the mind of Jason Kapcala comes an eclectic journal dedicated to the study of creative writing, rock music, tailgating, and other miscellany. The musings, meditations, contemplations, and ruminations expressed here are my own unless otherwise indicated. Please feel free to share your comments, thoughts, and opinions, but do so respectfully and intelligently.

You are about to start your first writing workshop. Ideally, this means entering a safe-but-challenging space that, for the next three months or so, will prove to be generative, stimulating, and nourishing—you are joining a community of single-minded, serious individuals who are committed to improving their writing (and their selves) through the focused study of prose or poetry. The bits of feedback you receive from these fellow writers-in-training will run the gamut, often contradicting one another, oscillating between praise and constructive criticism. You will find yourself overwhelmed. Not all of what is said will be useful to you. But you will feel energized nonetheless. Your fellow workshoppers are pure-hearted: they want only to help you improve and, in turn, to learn something valuable about their own work.

Ideally.Of course, anyone who has spent much time in workshop knows that this is not always how the environment shakes out. Hopefully, under the guidance of a strong workshop leader, most workshoppers will fit, more or less, into the above description. Or they’ll come around as they learn to value and respect the opportunity (and responsibility) they have been afforded. If they, as fledgling (or experienced) writers, truly care about writing, then they will take their obligation as a workshopper seriously, and they will work hard to offer feedback that reflects, at the very least, their best efforts to say something contemplative, selfless, and beneficial.If your fellow workshoppers don’t truly care about writing, then they will try to enter the workshop (and the world of writing) for other, less pure reasons—reasons that have more to do with ego and an ongoing performance of identity that is (at best) self-defeating and obnoxious, and (at worst) dangerous to themselves and others. For these group members, writing and workshopping are merely vehicles for fabricating a much larger fiction: in this case, their writing persona.Let’s look at a few of these workshop “characters.” I’ve identified thirteen (named conveniently after some popular and beloved authors). Their genders are arbitrary (based on whatever names and images I could scrounge up). It's important to remember that anyone can fit into any of these categories, male or female. Of course, some writers don't fit these personas, while others fit more than one. There are probably hundreds more ill-considered personas being carefully cultivated in workshops all over the country even as we speak. Still, this small cross-section should be enough to drive home the point. . . .

Please note: I don't know any of the models in the following pictures. Their photographs came up in a web search for public domain images.

"If you didn't suck so much, I wouldn't have to yell."

Pain AustenPurveyor of "Brutal Honesty"

Have you ever watched those nature programs they show on television? Do you know the part where the lion toys with its prey before devouring it? If only Pain Austen were so merciful. Unfortunately, she's much more prejudice than pride when it comes to offering feedback.

The one thing this workshop member loves more than anything—more than reading well, more than offering good feedback, more than helping others—is to be thought of as a hardass.

She’s the Iron Mike Ditka of workshop, buying into the myth that “brutal honesty” makes everyone better. She never stops to consider the fact that it is possible—nay preferable—to simply be honest sans brutality.

As she ruthlessly tears apart your story like a snarky food critic assigned to review the brand-new Burger King, Ms. Austen (in the tradition of chronic abusers) will work hard to convince everyone in the room—including herself—that she's doing this out of love. The truth is: Austen is only behaving this way because she’s hooked on the adrenaline rush she gets from being nasty toward others. Her feedback might be spot on, or it might be the tainted byproduct of her addiction to assholery—but how could you possibly know which is which?

Bragatha ChristieSelf-Proclaimed "Writer"

You know that person in workshop who sits at the end of the table and tries to look very important? (No, not the teacher, the other end of the table.) I'm talking about that person who prefaces every comment with the qualification, "Well, as a writer . . . ," that person who introduces herself at parties by saying, "It's nice to meet you; I'm a writer."That's Bragatha Christie. No one likes her much.

"I'm lucky to have been born so talented and creative."

She's not interested in talking shop—sharing the details of her project or taking an honest interest in what others are writing. For her, the only thing that matters is the pecking order. If Bragatha has published something—it doesn’t matter if it was featured in The Paris Review or Rat’s Ass Digest—you can expect to hear about it. A lot. Of course, Bragatha can be expert at the more nuanced “humblebrag,” as well. For instance, when introducing herself on day one, she might say something like, “As a writer, I’ve been working on my novel for two years, and I love it, even though my exceptional publishing record has really taken a hit since switching to longer fiction.”Bravo.

Bragatha Christie would be wise to gain a little perspective and take the advice of Julianna Baggott who, in a 2013 blog entry at “Writer Unboxed,” says, “Look, I don’t know what to tell you. You want to write or do you want to be a writer? I hope the answer is that you want to write, because being a writer isn’t worth it.” (John Grisham once said something similar. To paraphrase: if you say you want to be a writer, don’t waste your time. If you say you want to write, you stand a fighting chance.)

"It's clear you just don't 'get' my particular vision. That's fine."

F. U. FitzgeraldResident Crybaby

Most workshops have a rule: the author doesn't get to talk until after the workshop is over. That's because of this guy. F. U. Fitzgerald is what folks in the business call “thinskinned.” He’s the guy who always has something to say when the instructor asks if he’d like to ask any questions. Fitzgerald doesn’t have any questions because, for the past forty minutes, he hasn’t really been listening. He’s been scribbling his rebuttals down on the back of his manuscript.

Now, he's bound and determined to tell everyone why their feedback sucks the big one—how they failed to understand his story in all its complexity (as though that’s their fault). Expect Fitz to be in a bad mood for the next two to three weeks following his workshop, and expect it to infect his feedback to every other member of the class. When particularly stung, he'll find ways to parrot your own critique back to you next week in response to your piece.

Snobert FrostYuccie Doofus

Snobert Frost is a 20-something writer who lives in a gentrifying neighborhood in Brooklyn. He's the proud owner of a "fixie" (a fixed-gear bicycle) and a handlebar mustache. He loves rosé, Instagram, and irony. He's got deep thoughts, too, so brace yourself.According to a recent CNN article, Yuccies (or "young urban creatives") like Snobert have replaced the Hipster as the cool young adult of the moment. Unlike Bragatha Christie, who is mostly just preoccupied with touting her accomplishments, Snobert is very concerned with being seen and with being a part of the so-called "scene." If Bragatha wants everyone to know that she's a "writer," then Snobert is obsessed with being an "artist/artiste," or better yet, "an experience maker."

Snobert knows all the most obscure writers--he calls them by their first names. And he's eager to recommend some titles, which would be fine, if only his suggestions weren't dripping with smug condescension:

"So, I was on the B line to Stillwell Ave., and DeLillo sits down next to me. Long story short, Don and me are tight now."

“So you're a Philip Roth fan, huh? Actually, I find his work to be derivative and bourgeois. If you haven't read Guillermo Pfefferling's--ahem, 'Mo P's--lost manuscript, though, I, like, can't even begin to take you seriously."Don't expect much feedback from Snobbert—he’s far too busy preening in front of the mirror, field testing the viscosity of various mustache waxes and deciding which aviators pair best with his favorite slouchy beanie. Yuccie/Yucky? I'd say so.

"Before we start, can I just comment on what a small miracle it is for us all to be seated here today in this hallowed space. I feel so close to all of you, right now."

Earnest HemingwayDesperate Brownnoser

Whatever you do, don't sit in the seat directly adjacent to the instructor. That chair is reserved for Earnest Hemingway, and while Earnest might smile meekly and insist that "there are no assigned seats," he'll definitely try to poison your coffee with drain cleaner when you get up to use the bathroom.

This guy is a perpetual protégé. He floats from one mentor to the next, wearing out their good will in the process with his patented brand of codependence. At the end of the day, Earnest is a little like your neighbor’s labradoodle—he just wants everyone to like him, to the point that he frequently gets overexcited and has a little accident on the carpet.On one hand, Earnest can be really easy to get along with. He's the Yang to Pain Austen's Yin. You never have to worry about receiving malicious feedback from Earnest—he loves everything and everyone. And you aren't going to hurt Earnest's feelings by critiquing his story either because he's already pre-programmed to tell you how grateful he is for your feedback and how much that comma splice you spotted on page 16 "changed his life."On the other hand, he may try to hug you after workshop (which is a little weird), and because he only ever offers fluffy praise, his feedback lacks the critical perspective necessary for you to begin a quality revision of your own.

Stephen (Thinks He's The) KingAggressive Alpha

Stephen (Thinks He's The) King is one cocky bastard. He's sort of like Bragatha Christie on steroids, distinguished by his know-it-all attitude and his general indifference to everyone else in the class. He's not interested in being your "frienemy" (like J. K. Boiling), he's not offering up "tough love" (like Pain Austen), and he's not going to beat around the bush about how great he is (like Snobert Frost). He doesn't respect you enough to do any of those things, and he's not above saying that to your face.

"I'd avoid walking on the tracks if I were you, unless of course you want to get run over."

In fact, if it wouldn't put him in bad stead with the workshop leader, he'd probably ask everyone to kiss his ring.

Generally, this writer is one of the more experienced members of the group. He may have already built rivalries with certain classmates. And he can be quite intimidating to new members of the workshop because he backs up his arrogance, his impatience, and his open hostility, with talent, skill, and (often) publications. What he doesn't understand--what he may learn the hard way--is that being top dog in workshop is a lot like being named "Sexiest Zombie at the Cotillion." It's a distinction without meaning.

"Congratulations."

J. K. BoilingGreen-Eyed Monster

J. K. Boiling is like a more tempered version of Pain Austen. She might be thought as a "frienemy" rather than as an actual rival. Under normal circumstances--that's to say, the condition where neither of you are on a publishing hot streak--she's quite pleasant and supportive. But the moment you begin to surpass her, she becomes catty, resentful, and passive-aggressive."Oh, you got a publication. Finally. How fortunate for you. It's not often a story with an underdeveloped plot gets published.""That journal is okay, I guess . . . if you like that sort of writing.""Unlike you, I'm really more of a novelist than a story writer. Of course, I like writing that people will actually read."Deep down, J. K. Boiling is afraid of being the least successful writer in the room, and so she becomes envious when others have success--especially those she deems inferior writers. It's an easy tendency to develop, but Boiling would do well to remember that what happens to other writers (deserving or undeserving) has no bearing on her chances of being successful.

John SeetherProfessional Propagandist

Let's be clear about one thing upfront: workshop is not a place for writers to express or espouse hateful ideologies or stereotypes. Nor is it the place to practice your insensitivity or offensiveness. That's because a workshop relies on trust and respect between its members in order to be successful. If every person in the room is doing his or her job, then that doesn't become a problem. Everything runs smoothly.

"Your writing is an affront to democracy."

Still, there's usually one member of the workshop who isn't satisfied with this harmony. We call this writer John Seether, and he's not truly happy unless he's exercising his right to be righteously indignant. For instance, perhaps, Kelly used the term "short" when describing a character. Mr. Seether takes offense. "Don't you mean 'modestly heighted?'" he wants to know.Or, perhaps, Charles's protagonist--a bad, bad hombre named Malvolio McEvil--has just kicked a dog into a storm drain. Mr. Seether is sickened that this story promotes the abuse of animals, and he's accusing poor Charles of having violent fantasies.

Or, maybe, Marlon's main character goes to visit his mother. "Motherhood," Mr. Seether insists, "is a reductive role that has been used by the patriarchy to subjugate women for centuries--a belief Marlon, evidently, chooses to reinforce."If John Seether is reading this blog post right now, he's probably counting the photographs to determine whether or not they accurately reflect the cultural demographic of the writing community. (Sorry, John, I just use whatever pictures I can find for free on Pixelbay.) Or maybe he's concerned that Malvolio McEvil perpetuates negative stereotypes about people who share both Italian and Irish heritage. Or maybe he's just angry that I allowed Kelly to be outnumbered 2-to-1 by Charles and Marlon.Surely, there must be something here to get irate over.

Seether's problem is that he's a professional anger monger, incapable of distilling the significant from the insignificant. He isn't interested in discussing whether the choices on the page work for the writing at hand. Maybe Charles's villain is a bit too cartoonish kicking that dog. Perhaps Marlon's mother character does play too close to type. Maybe both of these characters should be made fresher, less stock. It's a conversation we could reasonably have during workshop, but it's not a conversation that will satisfy Seether's lust for outrage. You see, He's prepared a diatribe for every situation and every perceived slight, and he intends to use them all before the semester's out. A word of warning: it won't matter how beautiful, haunting, or profound your writing is, John Seether's not going to be satisfied unless it advances a social or political agenda he happens to agree with. Screw Chekhov. Screw art.

"I ran out of gas. I had a flat tire. I didn't have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn't come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out of town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood! Locusts! IT WASN'T MY FAULT!" —Jake Blues

Edgar Allan SlowExpert Excuse-Maker

Edgar Allan Slow might be the most frustrating person in the entire room because he can write. I mean, seriously write. The talent, training, and skill is there.Slow's problem is that he's unproductive. He's the guy in workshop who can't finish a project. He takes the summer off to write and only produces five new pages. He gets awarded a major writing fellowship and spends most of his time updating his Facebook page.

Why does Edgar Allan Slow do this? Because writing is hard. It requires commitment, discipline, and perseverance, as Ron Carlson points out when he says in Ron Carlson Writes a Story that "the most important thing a writer can do after completing a sentence is to stay in the room."To be clear, it's okay to be a casual writer or sometimes-writer, to take a workshop on a whim, to maintain a hobby. The problem with Edgar Allan Slow, however, is that he's not interested in being a hobbiest. He's already earned his MFA in fiction, and he identifies as a "professional writer" (though in a less showy way than Bragatha Christie). He's got ambitions about publishing a book, maybe getting a job at a university some day. And he's not doing anything to get himself closer to meeting those goals. In fact, he's been "leaving the room" for so long now that he's amassed a number of easy excuses to explain his lack of productivity: illness, grading, general malaise or melancholy, poor astrological outlook, brunch in the rose garden, black death, deluge, harvest season, inflamed hammertoe, the hamster’s scheduled veterinary appointment, opening day of trout season, the series premier of The Bachelor: Depravity Island, the feast day of a great aunt’s patron saint, and (my personal favorite) "writer's block." After a while, the only new thing that this "writer" has created is a fresh batch of excuses, the last batch having gone stale.

Leo StolestoyHabitual Copycat

Last week, you brought a story into workshop where a man comes to recognize that he hasn't been a good father after seeing a red-tailed hawk defend its nest against a hungry rattlesnake. This week, in workshop, Leo Stolestoy has shared his story about a man coming to realize that he hasn't been a good father after seeing a red-tailed hawk defend its nest against a hungry rattlesnake.

"It was the best of times . . . it was not the best of times."

All in all, it's not the end of the world. More of an annoyance, really. Depending on how the story is written and what else happens, it's certainly possible that the two of you could write the same basic plot but wind up with two different pieces. (Though it would be nice if he'd at least change the hawk into an owl or something.)Stolestoy is in the process of figuring out who he is as a writer. Probably, he has not read enough, and he doesn't have a developed sense of plot or voice yet. In her essay, "A Mystified Notion: Some Notes on Voice," Sylvia Watanabe describes students like this who bounce around imitating and combining the styles of famous authors. (She names a few: Woody Allen Beckett, Lorrie Moore L'Amour.) While rarely ever effective, this seems like a natural impulse for new writers.A writer like Stolestoy typically doesn't last very long in workshop. Either he outgrows his tendency to model his work too closely on the writing of others and begins developing some fresh ideas of his own, or he flames out and moves on to other activities.

"Girl, you must be The Times Best Seller List because I could see myself being on top of you for weeks."

Shark TwainStalker of Workshop Strange

Shark Twain may or may not even be a writer. He doesn't carry a pen or a notebook. You've never gotten any feedback from him. And the rumor is that he recycles the same story for every workshop.

So why is he even here? Simply put: this sexual deviant is only looking to add notches to his bedpost, and he's counting on you to be too naive to realize it. Best to keep a wide berth.

Gertrude WhinePerpetual Martyr

In a workshop (especially a nonfiction workshop), you never want to dismiss the traumatic experiences a person may have lived through. Things like abuse, chronic disease, mental illness, personal loss, and addiction are, generally speaking, no laughing matter. They are fine topics for writing, though not material to be personally envied.

Unfortunately, some writers seem predisposed to bathing in the butteriness of their own sad stories. These writers, like our friend Gertrude Whine here, are the sort that poet Kim Addonizio describes in her book Ordinary Genius, when she says, "Artists seem especially prone to believing that their pain makes them more interesting or more creative."

"Like Lydia Deetz, I was alone . . . utterly alone."

On the surface, it's hard to know what to make of Gertrude Whine's writing. Maybe you suspect that she is actually a literary hypochondriac. After all, when you mentioned stubbing your toe that time, she couldn't help but one-up your story by insisting that she almost died of frostbite one chilly summer afternoon back in '78. And when she caught you massaging the crick in your neck, she just had to share passages from her memoir-in-progress Thrice Bitten: My Valiant Struggle with Fibromyalgia, Gout, and Arachnophobia. And, when Gertrude Whine announced she was pregnant, you knew immediately that the next book would involve stories about piles and postpartum depression (even if "she" happens to be a man). Screw those nasty doctors who can't find anything "medically" wrong with her; Gertrude is sick and she knows it. In fact, she wants everyone to know it.Your starting to wonder if, maybe, she isn't trying to capitalize off the kind of pain that others have actually lived through. After all, it wouldn't be the first time.

On the other hand, the possibility always exists that Gertrude really is telling the truth about all of these maladies. There are people who have lived truly difficult lives. They don't have to fabricate or embellish. In this case, the problem isn't Getrude's choice of subject matter, but in the way she chooses to address it: victim-oriented melodrama she crafts in the hopes that she might convert pity into cash-money or literary success.Of course, you can't say any of that in workshop without running the risk of sounding like an insensitive lout. Such is the way Gertrude Whine handcuffs every other member of the class.

"Brothers and sisters, let us quaff nourishment from the supple teats of our literary forebears."

Yurt YawnnegutArmchair Philosopher and Pretentious Yurt-Dweller

The 2001 comedy film Zoolander features a vapid, acid-tripping male-model character named Hansel (played by Owen Wilson), whose brand of back-to-nature spirituality is taken to absurd lengths. Every one of Hansel's stories starts with a description of some extreme adventure-sport or native ritual he recently participated in, such as, "Me and my friends have been too busy bathing off of St. Barts with spider monkeys for the past two weeks," or "Hey, Ennui, will you do me a favor? Will you get me some of that tea that me and Lapsang got when we were climbing the Mayan ruins?"You get the picture. Over time, Hansel's "free spiritedness" becomes tedious.Every workshop has its Hansel. His name is Yurt Yawnnegut and he has just returned from a sixteen-month self-guided spiritual pilgrimage through the Alaskan outback, during which he ate nothing grubs and wild tubers, and shared a yurt with a domesticated fox named Scrap.

This self-appointed Svengali is a practitioner of an older workshop model, one that involves sitting in a circle and waiting for the muse to descend. (Singing "Kumbayah" may or may not help hasten this process.) He will spend two thirds of each class staring vacantly at the wall, stroking his prodigious man-beard in monk-like silence, but during a lull in the conversation, he will inevitably chime in with a depth and profundity rivaled only by those Matthew McConaughey Lincoln commercials: “To grasp the essentia of your story, we must first ask, 'does the astronaut dream of the moon, or is it the moon who dreams of the astronaut?’”). Yawnnegut can quote everyone from Martin Heidegger to the Dali Llama, which is impressive, even if it doesn’t actually pertain to anything that is happening in class.

After considering this motley cast, we could argue all day about “selfhood," and in the process, you could easily disprove my entire thesis here by stating simply that each and every one of us crafts, both consciously and unconsciously, the persona we share with the world. You would be right. You’d be missing the forest for the trees, but you would be right. My point is that workshopping requires a substantial degree of “selflessness"—that is, putting aside ego and posturing in order to focus more completely on the task at hand: skill building. A person should not take workshop to show off for others, to grind axes, to indulge narcissistic tendencies, to garner sympathy, to validate oneself through praise, to feed a nastiness addiction, or to get laid. Those external needs live somewhere off the page—they have everything to do with the writer and nothing to do with the writing. As such, there is no place for them within workshop. Not only does such compulsive persona-building create a hostile atmosphere, but it gets in the way of providing meaningful feedback. For one thing, it takes up a lot of time and energy—all that primping and preening, the feeding of that insatiable baby-bird ego that says only, “more, more, more.” This kind of indulgence is also distracting. It dulls the senses, infects a person’s mind, encourages the individual to shape his or her feedback according to personal hang-ups, anxieties, and insecurities, rather than what’s actually on the page.If you identify with any of the characters above, think hard about that. You may need to grow up a little and reexamine your motives for joining workshop in the first place.Otherwise, if you find yourself surrounded by a cast such as this, then my advice to you is to do nothing. Nothing? That’s right. Becoming argumentative or combative is only going to feed the beast, and your lousy classmates will feel justified in their behavior. Besides, you are not there to be the workshop’s leading morality officer, you are there to learn something about writing—better yet, to teach yourself something about writing.

Do not stop offering feedback. No, they don’t deserve your pearls, swine that they are, but the most important action you undertake in any workshop class is crafting feedback. Done well, it is the process by which we reflect on and articulate all that we know, value, and believe to be true about writing. If you shortchange others, you really shortchange yourself.

Met any of these folks during your workshopping experiences? Been any of these people? As always, please feel free to post your stories, questions, and comments below.